I blink.
Of course.Of coursehe wouldn’t actually want me. Kale is right.
“I’d never share you.”
The kiss is crushing and unexpected. I cling to him as it feels like the whole world is blown away around us. It doesn’t draw any odd looks at the crowded bar.
He kisses me like he owns me, like this is inevitable, like he knows I’m not going to fight him when his tongue slips in my mouth, when his hands slide over my dress and cup my ass.
I grab the hem before he can slide his hands under. “Are you trying to get me fired?” I croak.
Now he leans in, grabbing my jaw, angling me so he can kiss me deep, steal my breath.
“No. I’m trying to fuck you.”
A bomb goes off in my panties.
This is not in the ten-step plan.
I finally push him off—but not much.
He’s massive. Impossible to move.
“Don’t act like you don’t want it.” His hands are all over me. He nuzzles my neck, down my collarbone.
“If you hadn’t been so rude, you could have slept with your fake date.”
“I’ll take any pussy. I’m not that picky.”
“Could have fooled me.” I slap his chest.
He leans in to lick his way into my mouth. Then he’s kissing me again.
A girl could get used to this.
I shove him off.
“I don’t sleep with clients.” My chest is heaving, and I hold my breath to stop it.
“Is that wine bottle empty?”
McCarthy slides his credit card across the bar top, one arm still resting on my waist, like I’m his girlfriend. Like I’m his…
Aaand this is what my therapist used to warn me about.
Just because a man does something nice for you doesn’t make him a good man. It definitely doesn’t mean that he’s in love with you or wants to marry you.
The daddy-issues-sized hole in my heart, however, is taking McCarthy’s measurements and is determining that while it’s a tight squeeze, we’ll make it work.
McCarthy’s cupping my ass.
His hand comes up to the small of my back, and I inadvertently arch against him.
McCarthy is self-satisfied, his hand sliding down my ass and between my legs to cup me briefly as he signs the receipt.
This asshole.
This evening was a disaster.
